


Scoring the Glass

by will_o_whisper



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_whisper/pseuds/will_o_whisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Situations have changed since the Deep Roads, and people can only change with them. Hawke has questions; Anders has his own answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scoring the Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a promptfest over at dragon_age on livejournal as response to the prompt “There's battle lines being drawn.”

Two months pass after Hawke’s return from the Deep Roads before Anders hears from her.  Yet when he returns one evening from the shops in Lowtown, arms full with fresh supplies of much needed poultices and herbs, he finds her nosing through his things as comfortably as though his clinic were a home she never left. Bethany is not with her. He doesn’t ask why, and Hawke doesn’t explain; they both know he’s well apprised of the goings-on in the Gallows. Instead Anders shoos her away from his desk, and with prompting, despite her grumblings and ‘Sorry Mum’s, she takes some of his packages and helps sort through them.

Only after the last potion has been put away does he ask what, exactly, it is that she wants. The expression of offense that crosses her face is palpable. Were she anybody but Puck Hawke Anders might be fooled.

“Want? Whatever makes you think I _want_ anything but to catch up with an old friend?” Hawke sits herself on the edge of his operating table, without a care for the blood and piss and whatever else that stains it.

Anders doesn’t respond, rather choosing to turn his attention to his desk. He sets to putting things back in order, though he needn’t bother. Very little is in disarray — a testament, of sorts, to Hawke’s snooping prowess.

“You’re ignoring me!” She huffs.  “I’m hurt, Anders. Truly. I think I might cry.”

The table creaks as she shifts on it, and Anders feels a flare of irritation not entirely his own. He asks again what she wants, and when she hesitates he waves her off. “Then go.” It’s late, the sun will set before too long, but he has enough time to write a bit before he lights the lanterns and starts his work for the night.

Hawke does not leave. There’s another creak and a soft thud as she stands up. He hears rustling.

“Well there might be just a little something. Just a few questions I have.”

Hawke leans against the side of his desk. Anders recognizes his handwriting on the parchment she drops before him, his own manifesto. He looks at her.  The expression in her eyes is uncharacteristically serious, unusually earnest.

“Varric said you left it at the Hanged Man the other week.” She says slowly. “I’d…like to know more about it.”

What else can he do?

Anders ignores the manifesto; he knows the thoughts and words there-in as easily as he knows that mages must be free.  He starts to lean back, reconsiders, and shifts forward to rest his elbows on the desk instead.  Hawke, expectant—even eager—watches and waits.

So Anders begins to speak.


End file.
